


respect

by malgeum



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sephiroth, Casual Sex, M/M, Rimming, pining (lowkey mutual), top Zack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malgeum/pseuds/malgeum
Summary: “Actually…” Zack's sword pressed flat against his back as he leaned against the door, unyielding and sure. “Can I, um, take the lead this time?”If he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Sephiroth’s fingers halted at the knee of his boot, or the pause that could have filled the room if it sat long enough. But it was only a moment, one hidden by the threaded curtain of his silver hair.“I don’t see why not.”
Relationships: Zack Fair/Sephiroth
Comments: 9
Kudos: 189





	respect

**Author's Note:**

> you call it "haven't played crisis core in so long that i probably forgot a lot of key details," i call it "artistic interpretation"
> 
> the remake got me in the mood to explore my old haunts, and also explore sephiroth's big tittied chest. today i offer you this. tomorrow? who knows ......
> 
> comments appreciated! <3

— 

They had sex sometimes. All SOLDIERs did, really; it was common knowledge, a simple urge like thirst or hunger that needed to be sated, just like anything else, between missions and kills. If a team were in town, it was easy to find women for the night, or men if they wanted them — if they were elsewhere, though, isolated, it could be easy, convenient, a means to an end, and better than their own hand down their pants. SOLDIERs were human like anyone else. 

Zack was human, through and through. 

Sephiroth, somehow, was human too. 

They had sex sometimes, him and Sephiroth. It was always quick, perfunctory, a hot little fuck in whatever quarters they had. Zack always bent over a table, a sofa, the end of a bed; Sephiroth looming over him from behind, gloves on his bruising hips and aching back, clothes still on and mouth silent but for an offbeat breath to indicate some kind of pleasure. 

It was good every time — _every time._ Perhaps too good, if it was the only thing Zack could think about sometimes. He knew it meant nothing — not to the almighty Sephiroth, anyway, with his persistent calm and his detached, resigned strength — but he couldn’t help but enjoy it, couldn’t help but crave the thrill of that moment he’d be half-asked, half-commanded to bend over or get on his knees. His biggest superior and trusted comrade, one he and everyone idolized, wanted him in some way that mattered. He’d be insane not to like that.

Maybe he loved the feeling of power inside him. Maybe he loved the stretch, the heat, the unspoken carnal need and the necessity of fulfilling it. Maybe he liked filling the void of something missing in whatever way he could. 

Maybe they were both trying to escape.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to think about it.

— 

Lazard sent them off on search errands, chasing Genesis to the ends of the goddamn continent for fruitless rounds of nothing. But they went off anyway, trains and plains away from Midgar, deep into the countryside. Everything smelled like grass and stone, rain and wheat. Silence, save for the crunch of their boots against forest floors and unpaved paths. Zack would offer words, mild and lighthearted, or misguided questions, and Sephiroth would entertain them with only a muted sound or a rhetorical question, austere and underscored by some distant lost feeling. The same as always, in this new life without Angeal. 

They stopped at an inn in a different town every few nights, one bed for each of them. They camped when they had to, backs against trees and singing birds to wake them in the morning. It was mostly quiet. It was always just the two of them. 

There were a few nights where they fucked before turning in for the evening. It happened like some kind of spiritual contact, like Sephiroth could sense when Zack was particularly missing Aerith, or when he started staring at the scratches on the buster sword too long, or when their search had been particularly frustrating and empty. Zack liked to think Sephiroth cared about him enough to notice, anyway, even if Zack himself didn’t until he was sweating and moaning it out in a hot push and release. He definitely cared enough to wonder about Sephiroth’s composed silence as he cleaned himself up, tossed Zack a rag to do the same, then returned to their rented room to sleep, the urge gone and the deed done. 

It was always a means to an end, never mentioned outside its context. Never any feeling to it besides release, release, _release,_ physical strain and exhaustion, temporary heat and fullness. It wasn’t supposed to be more. It shouldn’t have to be. 

Zack wasn’t made like that, though. He got attached to things. He knew he shouldn’t, but he always did. Always, always did. And he was attached to Sephiroth, as a comrade and a friend and a quick fuck, and as an icon, and a superior, and a man so powerful it had to make him lonely. He’d seen the loss in his eyes whenever they talked about Genesis or Angeal. Zack saw it like a mirror of his own, mako-laden and too wild and sharp for real hurt, even though it was there. 

He’d seen too much, felt too much. And he was attached, for better or for worse. The same old story. 

— 

It’d been almost a week since the last time. They finished their work for the day, leaving another muggy, bleak town to sleep around them, for the million footprints in the clay dust to settle out in the gentle night wind, a clean slate for tomorrow. It was getting to be summer. Zack missed home. 

Sephiroth began undressing the moment the door closed. Boots first, as usual, black streaked with rusty brown, undone buckle by buckle. His huge frame crouched to allow him to carefully slide them off. 

Zack’s hands sweat against the doorknob. 

He could hear the murmur of other residents of the inn, too far away to make out words, some creaks of wood as others settled in after dinner. They should probably eat too, really, but — 

“Do you — ” He swallowed. Started again. “Can we...hang out tonight?”

Sephiroth glanced over, an eyebrow barely raised. His hair fell every which way over his back as he moved. 

“‘Hang out’?”

It wasn’t asked for clarification. It was asked to deem the words ridiculous. Zack flushed from his chest, one damp hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head. 

“Ah, _fine._ Can we get each other off tonight? Does — does that work?”

Sephiroth only huffed a bit, that low, ambiguous, half-humored trademark, and returned to his task. Zack’s pulse was stupidly high in his neck. 

“I’d like to wash a bit first, since today was scathingly hot, and I want this town off of me. But be ready when I’m done.”

There was a pull in Zack’s gut, in his groin, in his backside, a flare of phantom heat and the memory of times before. That wouldn’t be enough, though. Not tonight. Something about the long red sun, the empty houses and all the birds flying from their branches had made it different. Something about the wall behind Sephiroth’s eyes made him want to crawl inside and put his palms against the stone. 

“Actually…” His sword pressed flat against his back as he leaned against the door, unyielding and sure. “Can I, um, take the lead this time?”

If he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Sephiroth’s fingers halted at the knee of his second boot, or the pause that could have filled the room if it sat long enough. But it was only a moment, one hidden by the threaded curtain of his silver hair. 

“I don’t see why not.” He pulled the boot off in one fluid motion, continuing on. “I’m still going to wash first, so the situation remains the same. Have yourself ready.”

Sephiroth shucked his leather coat off next. Zack watched his broad shoulders, exquisite and pale, the muscles in them shifting as he draped it over the back of the lone wooden chair in their sparse room. His walk to the washroom and the sound of running water behind the crack of the door felt like a strange dream. 

And then reality hit. Sephiroth was going to...to _let_ him…

His throat went dry. Spit crackled against the muscle of it when he swallowed. 

_Yes._

— 

He dismantled his sword from its place on his back, nearly tipping it over as he set it against the wall. He shed his gear next, each clink of metal like the tick of a clock against the worn wood floor. He slipped off his shirt, his shoes, his pants. He wet his crumpled bath towel, a remnant from the night before, with water from his canteen, swiping dust from his arms and hands and face. He was sitting on the bed in his underclothes, scrubbing the towel through his hair and searching through his bag, when the washroom went silent. 

His stomach plummeted. 

Sephiroth emerged in a small plume of steam, his dry hair clinging to damp skin. He was naked. Nothing new, not after years in barracks and locker rooms and wars, but — 

“Where will you have me?” he asked, and Zack knew he was imagining the heat dripping from the words, so matter-of-fact, but they melted onto his bare skin all the same. 

“Uh.” _Think fast._ “On your bed? Face up, though.”

Sephiroth only nodded once, then sat on the end of his narrow mattress and its wrinkled sheets, falling back to lay and wait. Zack felt like his insides were shaking as he stood, as he stepped over to this impossible sight. 

He tried so hard not to stare, but Sephiroth was so tall, so _much,_ skin pale and scarless enough to glow in the dim light of their room, shoulders so wide they nearly hung off both sides of the bed. His hair was a blanket of moonlight silver beneath his body. Red lines were imprinted into the flesh of his broad chest, clearly from the constant press from the straps of his uniform — Zack’s tongue watered at the thought of those pectorals, so immaculately, strongly sculpted, straining against the faint bite of leather. Tapered waist with perfect muscle, hips leading right to the long, heavy cock between them. His whole mouth watered at the memory of it in his throat. 

“Well?” Sephiroth asked, eyes bored and sharp as a cat. Zack reclaimed faculty of his own body at the sight, hurriedly slipping his fitted underclothes down to kick them off somewhere beneath the bed. He couldn’t let this opportunity slide by before it even truly started. 

He reached over for the bottle of lube on his bed, halfway empty, then returned to stand at Sephiroth’s knees. He uncapped it, the click of it loud in the room, and rubbed a little onto his fingers. 

Sephiroth never asked him how he wanted it. Zack was tempted to ask him now, but he also felt like he shouldn’t. He’d asked to take the lead, and that was what he should do. Would do.

He let his hand circle Sephiroth’s soft cock. Always a good starting point. The weight of it in his hand was not so new, but he marveled at it anyway, felt his own cock stir at the feeling. Sephiroth made no sound, no movement. As usual. Zack nudged his knees apart, stepped between them, wondering where to go next. 

He felt — inexperienced, in a way. It wasn’t that he’d never had sex like this before — there were others in SOLDIER, friends or passing fancies, and the few loving nights he’d had with Aerith so far, little pockets of magic in the smoky green nights of the Midgar slums. It was different now, though, because this was _Sephiroth,_ naked and open in a way Zack never thought he could ask for, or would ask for — Sephiroth, in all his glory, the latent power radiating from his being, still and intimidating and distant, spread out and waiting to be used long enough to both of them to finish and then get back to work. 

Was there expectation? Was there... _desire?_ Was there a need beyond the easy hurdle of a primal urge? Perhaps he’d never know, no matter how much he wanted to.

Was he a fool, though? Yes.

Zack couldn’t tear his eyes away from the expanse of skin beneath him. His hand moved slowly, rhythmically, slowly coaxing blood into Sephiroth’s cock by the pure nature of biological response, if nothing else. He leaned over, balancing a hand beside the slant of Sephiroth’s waist, and ran his nose along the line of red on that massive chest. Every inhale nearly made him taste the water still on the skin, the warmth cooling rapidly on the surface. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, only because it was new. They’d never touched beyond gripping hair, gripping thighs, gripping hips. The feeling of wanting more, knowing he was close to taking it, was — 

“By all means,” Sephiroth said, his voice the same muted thing as always. Zack licked his lips, giving a squeeze to the cock in his hand like a thank-you. 

He went for the nipple by his open, breathing mouth, ran his tongue along the skin around it before latching on with teeth and lips. He sucked slowly, stroked slowly, savoring the taste and feeling. _Sephiroth’s skin._ Water and leather and metal, soap and salt, too cool to the touch to taste like skin he knew. A bud of pebbled, ripe flesh on his tongue, tight and tantalizing, the steady rise and fall of breath beneath the supple muscle of breast. 

He moved to the other all too soon, licking and sucking in methodical rhythm, using his balancing hand to twist slowly at the wet nipple he’d left behind, to gather the weight of the muscle and flesh in his hand and knead it. He felt Sephiroth’s pelvis twitch infinitesimally against his knuckles. 

_There we go._

He matched his stroking hand to the pace of his mouth, feeling Sephiroth’s cock grow and harden slowly the longer he gave attention. He was addicted to the taste, one he couldn’t quite figure out, and the feeling. He was already hard, cock skating against the inside of Sephiroth’s thigh with an exceptional whisper of pressure. _Fuck._

“Are you quite done?” Sephiroth asked eventually, not impatient but not anything else, either, and Zack snapped back into the moment, recalibrating over several seconds. He knew he was quickly getting carried away, but — it was sex. The outcome would be the same in the end, so he might as well take the long way, if it meant he’d enjoy it. 

“Who ever thought I’d be the one telling _you_ to be patient?” he replied, breath on the edge of the words, and leaned back to look down at Sephiroth with a smirk. There was color in that face, however faint. Zack would take what he could get. “Just relax. It’s fine.”

If this were any other situation, he probably would have gotten an eye-roll for that one. Instead he just got a stare from down Sephiroth’s nose, eyes water-green, pupils thin and black. And then they closed. Permission. 

Zack took that permission all the way down the tight, moving abdomen in a slow lick and drag of fingertips, down until he was crouched between those strong, mile-long legs. He couldn’t stop thinking about the unnaturally flawless skin of Sephiroth’s stomach and thighs, bizarrely void of scars for a man who’d survived war. He’d barely noticed before, having his face fucked in the half-dark of any other inn or forest, but here, now, with Sephiroth’s perfect body here, lax and soft, ready for any come-what-may, it was all he could notice. Did he sweat, or burn, or bruise? Did he heal too fast to feel? Zack wished he could parse out the answers with his tongue, that he could taste every inch. 

His hands smoothed up toward Sephiroth’s lap, feeling the impossibly velvet skin, watching the mild, instinctual flinch of muscle beneath it. His fingers pressed into the juncture of hip and thigh, the warm bridge of his perineum, experimenting, fascinated. Sephiroth made the barest groan at that pressure, and Zack felt his face heat all the way to the tips of his ears. _Fuck. Yes, that._

 _More._ He had to do more. He wanted more. 

He angled his wrist to twist around Sephiroth’s cock at the head, then focused his strokes there, short and at a slightly quicker pace. It left him room to take Sephiroth’s balls into his mouth, heavy and full on his tongue. He moaned without thinking — he would never get tired of this, would he, the feeling of this man in his mouth — and he coaxed those thighs further apart, settling himself closer to what he wanted. 

He heard something then that he’d never heard before, not once in his life: Sephiroth, a low, throaty noise leaving him in a restrained exhale. 

Zack’s fingers quivered in their hold. 

He needed to hear that again, if it was the last thing he did.

But — he inhaled deeply through his nose — he tried not to let the ungodly wave of desire he was experiencing show too well. This performance was all still fragile, he felt, hanging by a thread Sephiroth could snatch at any moment, could tie him up with and flip him over and take it back for himself, let it play out the way it always did. 

He glanced up at Sephiroth, not seeing much save for the peaks of his nipples on the rises of his chest, his lips open to breathe, his eyes still very likely closed, long gray lashes dark. Zack just kept sucking and rolling on his tongue, kept stroking, waiting for that noise again. 

He eventually moved to lick at the base of Sephiroth’s flushing cock, tasting that flavorless slip of lube, feeling newer, hotter fluid against his fingers. He licked all the way up until he could taste that instead, hot and human, salty on his tongue. His lips pulled at the head; his tongue pushed into the slit. Sephiroth’s fingers easily found his hair, sending a beautiful shock down his spine. 

God, he was so easy. Zack was too easy. 

It was a simple thing to give into, the validation of an encouraging grip to his roots. He let it happen, let himself enjoy it. He knew he was good at this. He liked being good at it, liked knowing that Sephiroth liked it. But there was more to do. 

He dragged himself off, a trail of spit coming with him, and moved lower. 

A moment too late, Sephiroth seemed to realize, and his body stiffened, tension blooming from the base of his spine. But it didn’t matter. Zack had already started searching for the entrance he knew had to be waiting for him, for that perfect ring of muscle he could hardly fucking wait to slip into for the first and only time. 

His hands slid up and down Sephiroth’s thighs, eventually pulling them up onto his shoulders to give him better access. And it did. He found the hole there ready for him, and he kissed it once, feeling Sephiroth still entirely. 

He didn’t wait. He was driven by something entirely outside of his control, something hungry and lustful in a fiery way. His tongue flicked around Sephiroth’s entrance, testing, and then he pushed. 

“Ah.” One of Sephiroth’s knee’s rose, then fell just as soon against Zack’s shoulder. _That’s it._ He couldn’t imagine how long it’d been since Sephiroth had done this. It was so _tight._ Maybe he’d never done it. Any thought of it made his own cock throb between his legs. 

He was hopeless, and he didn’t care.

He pushed his tongue in again, letting it move where it could. And then he did it again. Again, again, until Sephiroth was breathing audibly, until Zack could press in further, could press his nose into the sensitive skin above the hole he was opening, could hook his arms around those thick, corded legs and bring everything impossibly closer to his face. He ate Sephiroth open until his thighs were clenched hard around his skull. 

“Nngh.” He extricated himself, leaning his head back, gasping for air. Ecstasy. “Sephiroth.” He closed his eyes, skin and muscle warm and firm around his face, breathing through a wet smile. “Tell me what you want.”

There was a moment of only breath, both of theirs, one indistinguishable from the other. And then, the unexpected response:

“Finish what you’ve started.”

Sephiroth’s voice was thinner, rougher, but no less firm. Zack knew it was a command. His smile only widened. 

That he could do.

He stood then, bringing Sephiroth’s thighs with him and letting the knees bend over his shoulders as he righted himself, feeling loose and too warm, fevered and delirious with power. Was this how Sephiroth always felt in battle? Was this what it was like to be glorious?

He reached for the lube, uncapping it with his thumb.

“Can I go in now?” He poured it haphazardly onto his palm. “Or do you need more first?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sephiroth said, watching Zack’s face with a darkly neutral expression rather than the slow massage of lubricant over his fingers. But Zack was looking elsewhere. He saw Sephiroth’s cock, hard and high against his stomach. He saw the few long fingers subconsciously rendering the sheets they gripped into a tight, ruffled fold. He saw the contraction in the angle of his jaw.

Not readying himself. Restraining himself. 

Zack looked Sephiroth right in the eye. And then he slipped one finger inside him, another right behind it. 

The man’s body was unbelievable. Watching it move and clench and relax beneath him was an ethereal show, all ripples of water and glass, taut skin and perfect muscle. No matter what he said or didn’t, it was clear he wanted it, clear that he liked the drag of Zack’s fingers on the walls inside, the way he spread them and dragged them roughly back out. The way Sephiroth’s back arched when Zack guided himself inside instead, the way he gasped and set his teeth and let his ankles meet behind Zack’s head. 

Zack was panting by the time he was fully inside, sheathed so tight it was like a vise, blood pulsing relentlessly in his cock in that unfathomable unseen heat. He had to brace himself on the bed, hands on either side of Sephiroth’s waist, sweat dripping off his forehead to land by Sephiroth’s navel in a tiny sheen. A moan laced through his next breaths, loud in his ears, desperate with the feeling. He felt drunk, electrified all at once. 

“Move, Zack,” Sephiroth said, fingers wrapping one by one around Zack’s straining forearm, a warning. His voice sounded as tight as he felt. “Be done with it already.”

“‘Kay,” he whispered, all that he was capable of. “I will, I will, I will. Just — ” He would come now if he wasn’t _careful,_ wasn’t taking his time to pull back from the lightning-hot slice of feeling — 

But he did move, barely, rutting just enough to count as thrusts, Sephiroth’s rim choking him at the base of his cock. He kept going like that for a minute, feeling his neck pull with the effort it took to hold himself back from the edge. And then, once his heart had left his throat, he moved a little more. 

More. He had to do more. 

He propped a knee on the end of the bed. Balance, again, and leverage. He could thrust in easier now, a little deeper. He could hear a few course exhales leaving Sephiroth’s nose, saw that his brows were minutely pinched. He’d be worried if he didn’t know any better, that silence was how this always happened — there was a tension to that man that never left, no matter where or what or why. If he could just get him to let _go_ a little, to make one of those good, secret, glorious noises again — 

He used one hand to pump at Sephiroth’s cock, still solid and hot with blood, but this time with renewed strength and vigor. The response was instant. His hips rocked up into Zack’s fist, controlled but seeking still, matching the pace Zack was keeping inside and out. 

“Good, yeah,” he said, either to himself or to Sephiroth; he wasn’t sure. “That’s it.”

His hand was slick, his hips burned with exertion, the whole of his insides were melting, viscous and dissolving. There was no word he knew to describe how good this felt. He fucked into Sephiroth fast and deep, more with every beat, confidence mounting with his pleasure, too high and too much. On his deepest push, Sephiroth hissed, cock twitching wildly in Zack’s hand. 

_Again,_ Zack could hear him saying, though he didn’t, and very likely wouldn’t. But he did it again anyway, and Sephiroth’s back arched almost gracefully, a deep hum lodged hard behind closed lips. Again. Again. Tight, wet, hot. So much. Too much. Again. Losing himself too quickly to catch the fall. 

Zack came in a flash of blindness, pleasure so huge it capsized him, had him crying out loud enough to hear through the water. He didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He chased the feeling all the way until it started to fade, one burst of light after the other, coming hard inside Sephiroth, whose walls cinched around him like they meant to, trapping him there.

He kept riding his orgasm, what was left of it as it passed and brought the warm haze of endorphins sparkling at the edges of his eyes. When he finally arrived at reality, he was still inside Sephiroth, still pumping at that cock with abandon. Sephiroth was bruising Zack’s arm where he had it in his hand; his other arm had reached up behind him to grab the low wooden headboard, which creaked and groaned with every thrust. There was fluid all over his stomach, clear and thick; every muscle in his body was tense; both eyes were closed, focused. 

“Come on,” Zack encouraged around an exhale, leaning down onto his elbow. Sephiroth had to be close, the way he was practically snarling through his nose. So close to letting go. 

The right thing to do seemed obvious to Zack. Keep bucking his hips, even as he tipped toward oversensitivity; keep squeezing his hand and twisting his grip along the length of Sephiroth’s cock; keep leaning over to put his mouth on one pert nipple, so ready for attention. 

It didn’t take much longer. Sephiroth came with a rough, high breath, his cum going all over his stomach and Zack’s own, his hands locked deathly around their anchors, his hair cascading off the bed in small, silken waves, half of which were roped from sweat and movement. 

And that was it. 

They both caught their breath for the infinite span of a moment, one where Zack could not find itself in him to detach from Sephiroth’s body. He licked languidly around Sephiroth’s chest like a cat, tongue pressing into his nipple with lingering curiosity and desire. Eventually, though, and unfortunately, he had to use his mouth to properly breathe. He rested his cheek there instead, right on the sticky skin, and looked up to find Sephiroth unmoved, save for the hand he’d relocated to cover his eyes, elbow to the air. Regret, maybe, or a refusal to show his eyes, the wall always behind them. 

Regardless, Zack thought, they’d both finished. And that was enough to render the contract fulfilled. Give and take. Done and done. 

His stomach sank a little at the thought of leaving this mess, of not lying here for another hour, but this was just the reality of things. 

He used his tired arms to hoist himself back up, Sephiroth’s legs falling back to the mattress from his shoulders as he stood. 

—

In a lightheaded daze, he went to the washroom, which was still a bit humid from Sephiroth’s brief shower earlier, and grabbed a cloth to dampen beneath the sink water. In the mirror, just foggy on the edges still, he saw his face. His browned skin was flushed pink way up on his cheekbones. His eyes dazed and shimmering, mako bright within. Satisfied. Empty, but satisfied. 

He looked away, grabbing Sephiroth’s bath towel for him and strolling back into the main room. Maybe he shouldn’t have been a little stunned or disappointed to see him sitting up already, one leg crossed over the other as he scrolled through his phone, hair running down his back in a blanket, the soft click of buttons all that could be heard. There was a puddle forming on the floor beneath him. Zack felt his face heat. 

“Um,” he said, getting Sephiroth’s attention. He tossed him the towel, which was easily caught despite a poor throw. “Thanks, by the way. For that.”

Much to his surprise, Sephiroth gave him a small, just-bemused smirk.

“Please, Zack.” He looked back to the screen of his phone. “It’s just work.”

Ah. Yeah. That old song. Zack tried to ignore the twist in his gut.

“Yeah,” he said, unfolding a shirt to change into, tugging it over his head with lethargic arms. “Work.” 

— 

They had sex sometimes. And it didn’t mean anything. Not the silent offerings of bodies, nor the longing to feel and be felt. Not the temporary relinquishing of inhibitions for the sake of release. Not the unspoken want, smoldering in all the empty corners of Zack’s heart. 

The ceiling was a dull blue in the darkness. He was getting tired of looking at it, sleepless as he was. He turned onto his side, arm smoothing up the bed to slide beneath the cool side of his pillow. 

Sephiroth was fast asleep in the other bed, almost eerily quiet. As usual. Zack’s eyes traced the tall ridges of his shoulder and arm, the fall of his hair off the bed. Gray as stone. Zack wanted to press up against it all, and push. 

He sighed, closing his eyes. Nothing sleep couldn’t fix, he thought, lying again.

— 


End file.
